Time Makes Liars of Us All

I began my very first post to Faithbook and then to this blog with the following words:

I am not a Buddhist. I've never told anyone that I am a Buddhist and have in fact denied the title on more than one occasion. Even though I have been circling around the stupa for the last ten years, I have never made any formal or official commitment to the Buddha sāsana. I've never sown a rakusu or received a "dharma name." I am, as of this moment, a freelance wanderer through the six realms of samsara.

Two years later and most of these things are no longer true. I have sewn a rakusu for my lay ordination (Bodhisattva vow) ceremony and I have been given a dharma name. I am now a proud member of a Soto Zen community (although I have problems with Soto's excessive emphasis on "just sitting"). According to my neatly folded lineage chart, I hold the 81st place on a list that goes through Rev. Shoken Winecoff, Dainin Katagiri Roshi, Dogen Zenji, Bodhidharma, Nagarjuna, Ananda, Shariputra and finally old Shakya himself. (I will leave the problemitization of Zen lineage claims to Schlutter, McRae and Heine et all).

Last night, for the first time in years I have been directly asked what my religion was and I said Buddhist. I realized that this is much simpler than saying, "well I was raised a Christian and I still appreciate many of the teachings of Christ, but I have problems with a strictly incarnational Christology." Or "Well, I practice meditation, but it's a combination of Zen shikantaza, shamatha, vipassana and metta practices."

Ironically, right after I charily outed myself as a simple straightforward Buddhist, a professor was asked the same question and she also freely declared herself a Buddhist. (And she even did it by pronouncing it in the "proper" way so it sounds like Buddh-ist, while I say something that sounds more like Bood-ist).

So, I guess I have moved from free-agency to the minor leagues. Maybe one day I will move up to the majors and actually ordain. (Although with a bald head and my huge gangly hands I look shockingly like Gollum).

Moksha's Just Another Word For Nothing Left to Give Away

The name of my blog is The Impermanent Record for a reason. The rejection of eternal essences and premises is the cornerstone of most (not all) Buddhist traditions.

Given my understanding of impermanence, at least at an intellectual level if not at the level of lived experience, why did I stand in front of a group of people five years ago and pledge my “undying” love to a woman. Even then, I have to admit that I had sneaking suspicions that the marriage wouldn’t last. There were already some resentments and worse, the seeds of contempt had been planted by a marked difference in the level of commitment we showed towards each other. But marry we did because, as my wedding ring proclaimed: Amor Vincit Omnia - love conquers all. Well, you can’t conquer the truth and the truth is that nothing lasts forever, not even love, and certainly not marriage. (Should I then say, as my family crest does Veritas Vincit Omnia – truth conquers all, or is truth, too impermanent?)

So here I sit without a wife. The stories of betrayal (on her part) and heartbreak inducing insanity (on my part) are too brutal to ever relive, even on paper. It’s been three months since I returned to India and found that I no longer had a wife or a home and only in the last few days am I beginning to feel like my breath has returned to me. I hope that in another three months, I may be able to get through a day without feeling the sensation of being strangled and sat on. (To whom do those invisible, grasping hands belong? Who is it that sits on my chest and crushes the life out of me?)

It hasn’t been all bad. To be honest, when I am able to separate myself from her memory and still the almost constant looping conversations of resentment and recrimination in my mind, I find myself doing quite well. I have always shared the spirit of adventure that sent Thoreau into the woods, Kerouac onto the road and Bilbo into the misty mountains with Gandalf and the dwarves.

I am a contemplative at heart. A wanna-be monk. I find great value in thrift, meditation and fasting. I love giving things away. In the last few weeks I have given away my DVD collection, sold my big screen television, my bass guitar and most of my books. Today, I am giving the ex-wife my cat (whom she grew to love) as a symbol of my forgiveness and of the good moments we shared together.

I’m not sure you can be truly mentally free (the only type of freedom that really counts) if you are imprisoned by your possessions. I’m not sure you can really practice the Dharma with a lot of stuff cluttering up your life. I’m not sure you’re really alive if you are living in debt.

So, the wife goes, the dog goes, the cat goes, the stuff goes. And what’s left? The collection of mental and physical traits that I call “I” and “mine.” Ultimately those will have to go too. Luckily, given impermanence, parting with your things is easy. In fact, it takes no effort at all. Just open your hand and the thing slips out of your life forever, leaving you with more space and more freedom than you ever thought you could stand.